We had had a fight that included the fact that I bought toilet paper from Costco. For some reason, this deeply offended his sensibilities. Two healthy people didn’t need so much toilet paper in a small cabin in the woods. I wondered about those apocalyptic dreams I kept having and why they created the impulse to purchase so much TP. But winning the argument was more important than strange dreams, whys, and why nots. That was the final red flag. When winning a very stupid fight matters so much, love loses. It was Spring 1995 I was leaving a man I once considered my future husband.
A few short months later, as part of the decision-making process for choosing to marry Bob, I asked him about his thoughts on shopping at Costco. I just wanted to be sure I would never again have to defend my inexplicable need and unreasonable right to own excessive amounts of bathroom supplies. I was serious and yet Bob’s laughter sounded perfect. He was so reassuring we were married a few weeks later. And I forgot about the nightmare-dreams.
When Y2K was approaching, I had the odd job of scanning the budding Internet for articles on the subject. As I compiled the information into reports for people to read, I wondered about the people who would see these reports. Who were they? What would they do with the information? Were we really facing an imminent societal crash and other problems because the world’s electronic devices might fail to keep track of years properly? None of it made sense and it still doesn’t. I appreciated the wages though.
And I remember the whole thing like it was yesterday. Bob and I were on a limited budget. Zach was a toddling wild child. I was pregnant with Ari. And our spiritual community was in an end-of-the-world frenzy. So many group discussions on future scenarios from plausible to absurd… I thought long and hard as I headed to Costco that day between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, 1999.
If the supply chains were interrupted and cash registers couldn’t manage credit cards and the banks blocked cash withdrawals, trade and barter would reign. What would people really want? What could I carry around easily? I asked this because obviously gas would be rationed and my bike wasn’t good in the snow. So, I was going to be on foot with young children when foraging for supplies in a lawless world of chaos and snow. I wouldn’t want to haul around sharp or heavy things.
When suddenly this appeared to be a kind of insanity that few people acknowledged, the big vision no longer loomed over the larger and immediate situation of dwindling supplies on hand with limited funds and time. I couldn’t afford to purchase things I’d never use and I could only shop during nap time.
Sleep was a scarce commodity so brain function was foggy. My old nightmare-dreams and the great 1995 spring argument zoomed into focus as I walked into the warehouse. So. Obviously, I grabbed an extra Costco sized package of Charmin. And I felt really good putting all that TP in the closet that day.
Fast forward to early March 2020. A global pandemic was unfolding. My pantry and basement were stocked with extra household supplies because old habits based on feelings of security die hard. My last-minute supply run was for extra food for the chickens because I crave their fresh eggs and didn’t want to be forced into plucking feathers to eat chicken the old-fashioned way.
After putting away the extra feed, I pulled out my scissors and sewing machine because I knew I was going to be crying at some point soon. When people hoard, times are hard, and tears need to flow. Making cloth hankies was a nice brief obsession and an activity of relief.
These days, so many months later, every time I put a pile of these cute little sewn scraps of fabric in the basket where the tissue box used to live, I say a prayer of thanks for modern laundry machines and all they represent. Then I bow to the Earth and honor her trees and their air cleaning efforts. I just love trees and fresh air.
By the time there were jokes on the Internet (now in the advanced stages of blooming) about the toilet paper shortage, one of my friends had delivered to my front door, a blessed roll of TP with a special heart tag with my name written in glitter. I protected it under the antler my youngest son brought home after walking about town one day. We keep his cowboy hat on it on the mantle. It looked so sweet to me and when the glitter caught the sunlight and hit my eye like a light bulb going on, I realized my timing had been off back in 1995.
Dreams and even nightmares aren’t always connected to normal waking time. They’re in Dreamtime (which is a great place to go anytime,) but making decisions in the waking time world based on stuff that happens in the non-physical timeless world of dreams and nightmares – that’s always dicey business. The answer is from my TP fairy. She says, “whenever making a decision, feel into the potential choices. The one that feels expansive is the right one.” I apply this theory to my purchases especially when a dream gave me scary information like, “people are going to lose their minds and hoard hygiene oriented products.”
Much has changed in the 25 years since my dream, but more than ever, people in the USA really want their toilet paper. I was and still am an official visionary on the cutting edge of evolution, just like the rest of the artists, writers, inventors, and creatives. So, I’m going to wrap these reflections up with a tip for you that I believe you can take to the bank or at least buy for your home.
You see, our budget isn’t as tight as it once was, but we still like to save money and make sensible purchases. Bob took one look at the Toilet Paper Apocalypse, did some thinking and some research, then bought and installed a Tushy so our TP supplies last longer. The trees and earth get to make extra fresh air. And our butts are cleaner.
All’s well that ends well.
(I don’t get paid for this – but I recommend it anyway… Bidet Attachments by TUSHY | For People Who Poop )